The First Last Date

I was halfway done with my freshman year at college. It was a time of transition for all of us. For most of us, we dealt with the separation of close friends, we dealt with being away from home, we had to adapt with a whole new lifestyle. Most people meet new people and often try new things like dating, or excessive drinking. College is indeed a whole new world filled with wonders, surprises, strange professors, and that occasional student who comes to class stoned.

I had received an invitation from my longtime friend, Ronaldo, to a birthday party, and I never could refuse. But this time, however, was a little different. “There’s someone I want you to meet,” he said. I wondered if he was really going to fix me up on a blind date, or if the phone signal was bad (isn’t it always?). “It’s going to be great! Just make it about an hour early. Trust me, you won’t…” and then the signal really did die.

The night of the party was quite nerve wrecking at first. Car after car of guests all coming out, not knowing when she was going to appear, I quickly turned around to see him on the phone giving me a thumbs up. I guess it was time to meet my mystery date. This had to be payback for a prank; at least I thought it was. But as soon as her car came up, I began to feel the anxiety going through me like sugar through little kids. I can tell this was her, because Ron was waving with such enthusiasm. It was the moment of truth. I was about to meet the person whom I would have my first date with.

The door slowly opened. I started to sweat, not because it was 80 degrees outside, but from anticipation. And then I saw his face. Wait a minute…what? Did I just say his face? That’s right. I looked back at Ron who was still waving, even though his guest was right in front of him. I looked back at my friend as if I wanted to hit him, but it was all a false alarm, as my real blind date was behind the car that just pulled up.

There she was. My friend nodded, letting me know she is indeed real. I was in such relief. “I’m Karen,” she said as she stretched out her hand. “Ron has told me so much about you!”

“Francisco…I mean, Frankie,” I said with a slight stutter, “nice to m-meet you.” I looked back at Ron with the biggest smile I could ever have.

The rest of the night, we spent all our time getting to know each other. She had a great sense of humor, considering how she enjoyed my lame jokes. The rest of the night we just spent as much time as possible, even if it meant losing to her in Mortal Kombat (remember that game?) because of my lack of focus. It was indeed a great night.

We began dating shortly after that and all was right with the world.

I went way too off subject didn’t I? This is supposed to be “The first last date.” Obviously, I’m going to keep the title to a literal level, so why not skip to the last date? No? Well, nothing really happened between then and the last date. Trust me; it will save you some time. However, we did get to hold hands on the fourth date. Now do understand what I mean? Good. So let’s move on to the penultimate date then.

For weeks my friends have been showing distrust towards Karen, especially my best friend, Andres. He always has these gut feelings about people. And let me tell you, they have been right somehow. I learned something in all this, and that is to always trust your best friend’s stomach, guts, or simply his whole digestive system.

I had planned to reunite all my friends together so they could meet her at last (also to put everyone else’s digestive system at rest). I had given her a call to ask when she was coming over. Her car was in the shop (don’t even ask) and she had no way of traveling over to where we were.

“Well, it looks like she won’t be able to come after all,” I told my friends.

Lucky for me (or unlucky), my friend Tito was sitting around getting ideas. “How about I take you over there? You only said it was five minutes away, right?” he asked as he was already headed towards his car. How could I have said no anyways?

After a few misguided directions, we have located Karen’s house. Let me just say that saying it was big would be an understatement. This was a mansion I just entered. Karen invited me in. You are all probably wondering what happened once I entered her house for a mini tour. I bet you would assume we had our way inside that house, right? That’s right! I just caught you assuming we did something dirty in there. The truth is, I was too damn shocked by the size of the house to even notice we were alone.

The biggest thing that caught my attention was the bathroom (gotcha thinking again). It was huge! To give some kind of mental picture, the bathroom was probably as big as my bedroom. I just thought it was a room with a toilet. That would have been good for anyone. I barely remember the rest of the house, but I can tell it was the biggest house I have ever seen.

Having finished the “grand tour,” we saw Tito outside minding his own business as he waited for us. He gave me a gesture to ask if we did anything in there. To this day, I don’t remember what the hell I replied. And so, we got in the car and headed back to Andres’s house, where a few friends waited to meet my famous first “girlfriend.”

They indeed had a blast meeting her, considering me how she emasculated me in my favorite games. Yet, I could tell some of my friends still didn’t accept her completely. That distrust was going to come into play a week later, during the Christmas season. I was about to enter the very last date, and also the event which launched Andres into a rage of explosive laughter.

It was precisely a week before Christmas. I had bought Karen a teddy bear with a card, in which I took the liberty of displaying my deep poetic soul into. We had gone to the mall, like always, and we were enjoying the casual dinner. But I would soon learn that things were starting to turn for the worst.

I had reached over to hold hands, when I noticed she quickly withdrew it. “What’s wrong? We always hold hands (it took four dates to do it too, so you better hold hands). Why don’t you want to now?” I asked.

She simply replied coldly. “I went to the doctor today to check something in my hands (I will be quick to point out that she did have some kind of condition that gave her some kind of pain in her hands sometimes, but sometimes) and my hands really hurt today.”

I quickly tried to put my shoulder around her, but she scrubbed it off by saying she just wasn’t feeling good. Yes, I was going downhill from this point. And after countless hours of shopping, I still tried to help her with her bags.

“Come on,” I said, “let me help you with your bags. You don’t want your hands to keep hurting.”

She looked at me as if I was lost or something. “I’m fine.”

“So your hands hurt when we hold, but they don’t hurt when you hold a bag with a heavy dance pad?” I said as I tried to keep my cool.

“They don’t hurt now.”

Great, not only was I getting the feeling that she was lying to me, but I had the feeling this date wasn’t going anywhere. So I did what any panicking person would do on a date. I called my best friend.

“I need to get out of here,” I said softly.

“What happened?” asked Andres.

“She won’t let me carry her bags, even though her hands supposedly hurt. And if she can lift them up, she shouldn’t complain when I try to hold hands.”

There was deep silence. “I’m on my way then,” he said.

I was starting to feel it was time to step up to the plate to see if this relationship is indeed going somewhere. I was ready to either hit a home run, or strike out big time. Unfortunately for me, I just witnessed strike one. And everyone knows that if strike one is done, strike two will hit even harder.

I was going all out this time. I had her teddy bear and card ready to give. Surely my present will at least earn me a kiss (or maybe a handshake, in her case). I was going to take my chance in the backseat of my best friend’s car (not like that, you sick depraved minds) and hope for the best.

It was finally time to step up once again. We were on our way to her house. Andres noticed I was going to go for it. I could tell he knew, for he was constantly looking in the rear view mirror. Who could blame him? He wanted to see something so rare as to see me get lucky. His anticipation was close to mine, but he wasn’t screaming on the inside.

I quickly gave her the teddy bear and the card for her to read. As she read it, I could tell she was struck with awe. It was now or never, I wanted to tell her how I felt. And then, the three words slipped out of my mouth. Chances are I didn’t say “hot juicy burger,” so of course; I let out the three words I have never told a girl before. “I love you,” I said as everyone in the car fell silent. And then the sound of laughter echoed.

She was laughing. I may have been new to that whole dating experience, but I don’t think your special someone is supposed to laugh when you tell them you love them. Was there something I didn’t know? Did I accidentally stuff the bear with laughing gas? Did I tickle her with my mind? What the hell caused that laughter? To this day, I still don’t know why Karen laughed when I told her I loved her. I was opening my heart to her, and she was laughing like it was comedy hour.

We arrived at her house, just in time. I was still waiting for my response to the “I love you” that exploded from me a while ago. Nothing. She simply grabbed her gifts and ran out the door. Andres looked at me with a worried look, but I could tell he was about to erupt in laughter. Who could blame him, the whole thing seems pretty ironic. Anyone who would laugh at such ironic twists truly has a sense of humor. She was gone. Out the door she flew with her teddy in hand. I was screwed. There’s really no other way to put it bluntly, other than saying “damn, I f*cked up.”

I froze. This was the biggest slap to the face since getting pummeled by an army of pre-scholars with kites in high school (don’t dare even ask). And now it was just a matter of time until strike two came near. And yet, the second I was ready to give up, I saw her running towards me once again. At long last, she was going to say “me too” or maybe an “I love you too.” Although, knowing her, I would have been happy with a “k’ thanks!”

She opened the door with a big smile. She looked me dead in the eyes like never before. This was it; I was going to know she also loved me back. “I left my card. Could you pass it to me?” she said.

What the hell did she just say? Did I just hear what I thought I heard?

Strike two.

I was starting to get fed up. She flew out the door without even saying a simple goodbye or anything. Lesson number two: rich girls don’t know how to love back.

Andres started to laugh like I never had seen him laugh before. And who could blame him? It didn’t happen to him. “Let’s just get the heck out of here,” I said softly in my disappointment. “Today was the worst. She wouldn’t even want to hold hands. Her whole body was supposedly hurting, and yet she had the magical strength to lift some heavy crap all over the mall.”

He drove off quickly as the image of Karen’s house vanished slowly. That was the last time I ever saw the damn house.

Strike two was about to get worse (oh yes, it gets worse, but also good for a laugh). I got a call from Karen shortly afterward. “Yes!” I thought, “Someone who has never called me was about to call me out of her own free will.” I quickly looked around to check if she left any other items behind (as a precaution, and partly so that I could throw them out the window) and nothing was found. So I answered the phone, maybe she had something to say that would lift my spirits.

At this point in the story, do you honestly think its going to be good news?

“Why did you leave so soon?” she said

“Well,” I said, “you ran off so fast I thought you were just tired.”

“Well, my father wanted to meet you.”

“What?” I said in disbelief. “Why would he want to see me?”

“No reason,” she said.

I’m sure glad I had left when I should have. I worry what would have happened when a rich anesthesiologist (thank God for spell-check on that one) met her daughter’s simple boyfriend who didn’t have money? I’m glad I wasn’t there to find out.

At this point, I was just anxiously awaiting strike three. I was starting to see why my friends, and Andres’s digestive system, didn’t like Karen. Was it because they knew she was going to hurt me someday? Damn, I have got to start listening to my stomach for times other than food. Maybe it can tell me something.

Strike three was only a few short days after.

A large group of friends have assembled at his house once again and had asked me if they could meet my girlfriend. They had wanted to see the marvel all for themselves.

I called Karen up to see if she was available. (Side note: on a day prior to this meeting, I had called her up just to talk and she said she was simply busy, not giving an excuse. So you can guess where this is going). She answered after a few rings as I stepped up to bat for my final strike.

“Listen, I would like to see if you could make it today. A few friends would like to meet you, and they say they want to see you beat me at our game again,” I said.

“I can’t,” she said, “I have to study. My best friend is coming over to help me with my study. And once we’re done, we are going to play some video games.”

“So why don’t I join you when she comes over once you are done with your studies?”

“I can’t. My mother doesn’t allow people to enter the house while she’s not there.”

“And your best friend can?”

“Oh yes, my mom has already said that he (not a typo) can enter.”

The call went silent after that. So you can tell what happened after that. Yes. There was quite a lot of frustration afterwards. She spent time with her best friend alone doing who knows what, and she denied her boyfriend of being part of her life. Strike three. And this time, hurray for strike three. Get me out of the park and let me just try again next time.

We broke up shortly after. Long discussions and all; boring stuff.

I learned three important lessons from that time. First, you need to trust your best friend’s digestive system. It could tell you whether someone is good or not. Second, rich girls need to be hugged by their dads, or at least their butlers. And third, never ever flush your friend’s pot down the toilet as an attempt to get him to quit, he just might set you up on a blind date with a girl he dislikes.

Payback is a bitch.